But at the door, a voice from across the hall called weakly to me. When I turned, I saw Dr. Krantz lying in the bed of the room across from Rob's. Gathered around his bed were a number of people I recognized, including Special Agents Smith and Johnson, who used to be assigned to my case. Until Dr. Krantz fired them from it, that is. It was good to see they could all let bygones be bygones and get along.
"Well, well, well," I said, strolling into the crowded room. "What's this? A debriefing?"
Dr. Krantz laughed. It was a startling sound. I wasn't used to hearing him laugh.
"Jessica," he said. "I'm glad to see you. There are a couple of people here I want you to meet."
And then Dr. Krantz, whose leg was in a long sling, with spikes coming out of a metal thing around the patched-up wound where I'd stuffed my rock, pointed to various people crowded into the small room, and made introductions. One of the people was his wife (she looked exactly like him, except that she had hair). Another was a little old lady called Mrs. Pierce, whose name suited her, since she had very piercing eyes, as blue as the baby bootie she was industriously knitting. The last was a kid about my age, a boy named Malcolm. And of course I already knew Special Agents Johnson and Smith.
"That was quite the invasion of the True Americans' Compound you launched, Jessica," Special Agent Johnson said.
"Thanks," I said, modestly.
"Jessica's always impressed us," Special Agent Smith said, "with her communication skills. She seems to have a real flair for rallying people to her cause … whatever cause that happens to be."
"I couldn't have done it," I said, humbly, "without the help of many, many Grits."
There was an awkward silence after this, probably on account of no one in the room knowing what a Grit was, except for me.
"You'll be happy to know," Dr. Krantz said, "that Seth is going to be fine. The burn should heal without leaving a scar."
"Cool," I said. I wondered what was happening in Rob's room. He and his mom had probably had a nice little reunion by now. When was my turn?
"And the police officer," Dr. Krantz went on, "who was shot should be fine. As should all of your, um, friends. Particularly Mr. Chicken."
"Chick," I corrected him. "But that's great, too."
There was another silence. Malcolm, who was sitting over on the windowsill, playing with a Gameboy, looked up from it briefly, and said, "Jeez, go on. Ask her, already."
Dr. Krantz cleared his throat uncomfortably. Special Agents Johnson and Smith exchanged nervous glances.
"Ask me what?" I knew, though. I already knew.
"Jessica," Special Agent Smith said. "We all seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot with you. I know how you feel about coming to work for us, but I just want you to know, it won't be like it was with … well, the first time. Dr. Krantz has been doing groundbreaking work with … people like yourself. Why, Mrs. Pierce and Malcolm here are part of his team."
Mrs. Pierce smiled at me kindly above the baby bootie. "That's right, dear," she said.
"It just really seems to me," Special Agent Smith said, reaching up to fiddle with her pearl earring, "that you would enjoy the work, Jessica. Especially considering your feelings about Mr. Henderson. Those are the kind of people Dr. Krantz and his team are after, you know. People like Jim Henderson."
I glanced at Dr. Krantz. He looked a lot less intimidating in his hospital gown than he did in his usual garb, a suit and tie.
"It's true, Jessica," he said. "Someone with powers like yours could really be a boon to our team. And we wouldn't require anything from you but a few hours a week of your time."
I eyed him warily. "Really? I wouldn't have to go live in Washington, or anything?"
"Not at all," Dr. Krantz said.
"And I could keep going to school?"
"Of course," Dr. Krantz said.
"And you'd keep it out of the press?" I asked. "I mean, you'd make sure it was a secret?"
"Jessica," Dr. Krantz said. "You saved my life. I owe you that much, at least."
I looked at Malcolm. He was absorbed in his video game, but as if he sensed my gaze on him, he looked up.
"You work for him?" I asked, gruffly. "You like it?"
Malcolm shrugged, " ’s okay," he said. Then he turned back to his game. But I could tell by the way color was spreading over his cheeks that working for Dr. Krantz was more than just okay. It was a chance for this otherwise average-looking kid to make a difference. He'd wanted to seem cool about it in front of the others, but you could totally telclass="underline" This kid was way psyched about his job.
"How about you?" I asked Mrs. Pierce.
"Oh, my dear," the old lady said, with a beatific smile. "Helping to put away scumbags like that jerk Henderson is what I live for."
After this surprising remark, she turned back to the baby bootie.
Well.
I looked at Dr. Krantz. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll think about it, okay?"
"Fine," Dr. Krantz said, with a smile. "You do that."
I told him I hoped he felt better soon, said goodbye to the others, and drifted back across the hall.
So? Stranger things have happened than me joining an elite team of psychic crime-fighters, you know.
And it had felt pretty good when I'd seen them wheeling Jim Henderson in on that gurney. . . .
Inside Rob's room, Mrs. Wilkins had been joined by her brothers and Just-Call-Me-Gary.
"Oh," Rob's mom said, as I came in. "Here she is!"
Rob, his hair looking very dark against the whiteness of the bandage around his head, and the pillows behind his back, smiled at me wanly. It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Instantly, all thoughts of Dr. Krantz and the Federal Bureau of Investigation left my head.
"Hi," I said, moving toward the bed. I had, for the occasion, donned a skirt. It was no velvet evening gown, but judging by the appreciative way his gray-eyed gaze roved over me, he sure thought it was.
"Well," Rob's uncle said. "What say we check out this cafeteria I've heard so much about, eh, Mary?"
Mrs. Wilkins said, "Oh, yes, let's." Then she and her brothers and Just-Call-Me-Gary left the room.
Hey, it wasn't subtle. But it worked. Rob and I were alone. Finally.
It was a little while later that I lifted my head from his shoulder, where I'd been resting it after having become exhausted from so much passionate kissing, and said, "Rob, I have to tell you something."
"I didn't ask you," he said, "because I didn't want you getting in trouble with your parents."
I looked at him like he was nuts. For a minute, I thought maybe he was. You know, that Mrs. Henderson had scrambled his brains with that mashed-potato bowl. "What are you talking about?"
"Randy's wedding," Rob said. "It's on Christmas Eve. No way your parents are going to let you go out on Christmas Eve. So you'd just have ended up lying to them, and getting in trouble, and I don't want that."
I blinked a few times. So that was why he hadn't asked me? Because he'd thought my parents wouldn't have let me go in the first-place?
Happiness washed over me. But still, he could have just said so, rather than let me think he had some other girl in mind he wanted to take instead. . . .
I didn't let my relief show, however.
"Rob," I said. "Get over yourself. That's not what I was going to say."
He looked surprised. "It wasn't? Then what?"
I shook my head. "Besides," I said. "My parents would so totally let me go out on Christmas Eve. We don't do anything on Christmas Eve. It's Christmas Day that we do church and present opening and a big meal and everything."
"Fine," Rob said. "But don't tell me that you'd tell them the truth. About being with me, I mean. Admit it, Mastriani. You're ashamed of me. Because I'm a Grit."
"That is not true," I said. "You're the one who's ashamed of me! Because I'm a Townie. And still in high school."